On the Practical Applications of Villainy in Everyday Life
by black.k.kat
Summary: Ianto Jones (the Black King) has a plan. Jack Harkness (Captain Charisma) wants to stop him. Doesn't he? Sequel to 'Pragmatic Villainy vs Captain Superhero: A Study.'


**Rating:** T

**Word count:** ~ 4500

**Warnings: **Crack. Again. And fluff.

**Summary:** Ianto Jones (the Black King) has a plan. Jack Harkness (Captain Charisma) wants to stop him. Doesn't he? Sequel to 'Pragmatic Villainy vs Captain Superhero: A Study.'

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **Do you see how susceptible to peer pressure I am? It's awful. :P Here, the sequel you asked for (coughDEMANDEDcough). I hope it satisfies, though it's probably not nearly as funny, and it got weird at the end. I blame it on reading one of Iron Man's stranger arcs before going to bed.

* * *

_**On the Practical Applications of Villainy in Everyday Life**_

Owen is the biggest, blindest prat in universe.

No, really, Tosh is sure of it. If someone created an awards system tomorrow, Owen would be the first name at the very top of the list, and possibly the next several names under that. Him sleeping with Gwen is really the last straw.

She slams out of the Tourist Office that hides one of the entrances to the Hub, muttering under her breath, and heads across the Plass at what is probably a stomp, but she feels she's earned it. They've been working on locating Mr. Jones the supervillain since eight o'clock last night, Owen's been insufferable the whole time, which means he's getting laid, and Tosh _knows_ it's Gwen he's sleeping with; they really should remember to turn off the interior security cameras if they're going to fuck in the records room.

"You," a voice cuts in suddenly, startling her out of her pique, "look like you could use a coffee."

Caught unawares, she stops and half-turns to see a young man smiling at her from one of the benches. He's holding a steaming travel mug, with another perched beside him. He looks vaguely familiar, but then, Tosh spends a good chunk of her life looking at people's files, so it's not inconceivable that she's seen him somewhere before.

What she's _not_ prepared to deal with is the warm invitation in his smile, or her own reaction to it—not lust, not even immediate liking, but the urge to sit down and tell him everything that's going wrong in her life.

"Sorry," she says awkwardly, pushing it down, "I'm sure you're a lovely person, but I'm—"

To her surprise, the man chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no," he offers reassuringly. "You're beautiful, but I'm gay. I just meant that you looked like you were having a bad day, and since my friend cancelled on me, I've got a coffee to spare, if you'd like it."

"Oh." Tosh hesitates for a moment, but it's a beautiful day, if cold, and the bench—not to mention the company—looks inviting. Taking a short breath, she sinks down next to the man, who looks like any other young businessman, if a bit more colorful in his blue pinstripe suit, pale pink shirt, and pink-and-blue striped tie.

"I'm Ianto," he says with a charming smile, holding out a hand.

Tosh takes it. He's got a firm grip, and he doesn't try to soften it because she's female. It makes her like him a bit more already. "Toshiko."

Ianto nudges the unclaimed travel mug closer to her, and offers up the white bakery bag sitting next to him. "Muffin? They had them fresh this morning, and I'm afraid I couldn't resist."

There's blueberry in the bag, her favorite. Tosh takes it with a touch of regret—she's already eaten breakfast, and she really shouldn't—but it's still warm, and smells like heaven. The coffee is good, too—amazing, even black, and she's never been overly fond of the stuff without lots of milk and sugar. As it bolts across her taste buds, she makes a noise of surprise and delight.

"This is wonderful," she murmurs. "Where'd you get it?"

Ianto smiles at her, clearly pleased. "My own blend. I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," she says honestly. "Your friend's a fool for missing this."

The strangely familiar pale blue eyes—Tosh _knows_ she's seen them before, though she can't quite recall the context—crinkle upwards at the corners. "Thank you. I'll tell him you said so. So, Toshiko, what do you do?"

Tosh manages not to freeze at the question, because it's a normal one that any two people might ask each other—though, granted, not everyone would answer, "I'm the computer genius to a superhero." Swallowing a bite of muffin, she coughs and manages, "Tech specialist. What about you?"

Ianto is still smiling, gentle and accepting, and where most people would press for information, he simply answers, "I'm in organizational development and expansion, with a focus on Cardiff in particular." Her eyes must glaze a bit, because he adds, "It's fairly straightforward, really; the title just makes it sound more complicated than it is."

Tosh nods like that means something to her, and it probably should, but the sun is out and Owen the prat and Gwen the cheating girlfriend are as far from her thoughts right now as they can be. The tension that's been building in her shoulders since they started working last night—because evil never sleeps, and apparently neither do they, although there was neither hide nor hair of the Black King to be seen—is finally easing, sliding away down her spine the same way the coffee slides down her throat.

"Thank you," she blurts after a long moment. "For…this. It's quite a thing to do for a stranger, and I appreciate it."

Ianto glances at her, and then away. He shrugs, but Tosh thinks she can see a faint flush high on his sharp cheekbones. "Someone did the same for me, once," he says simply. "I was young, estranged from my family, and in a bad place. I'd had this whole new life established, was finally going somewhere, and then it all went totally pear-shaped. The boss died, the organization was about to go under, and all I wanted was a moment of peace. So he pulled me out of the crowd, sat me down, fed me dinner, and helped me get my head on straight. I've never forgotten that."

"Well, thank you." Tosh lets out another breath, this one filled with momentary contentment rather than wary tension. Ianto looks at her, his expression open and warm, and suddenly she can't stop the words tumbling off her tongue. "There's a guy I work with, and he's a complete prat, awful to everyone, but I…like him, and I've liked him for a long time. And now he's taken up with another coworker, who already has a boyfriend, and they're both so _obvious_ about it! I just—I can't understand why he'd rather have someone like that than someone like…"

"You," Ianto finishes for her, his voice soft. He looks out over the Plass, at the morning crowds, and smiles a little sadly. "Sometimes, we just want what's worst for us," he offers after a moment. "We'll look steady and stable on the outside, but there's just something in us that wants to hurt, or be hurt, or both, and it's very, very hard to get away from it. All our choices feed directly into that, and no matter what lies we tell ourselves, it's because we think we deserve it."

Breath clogged in her throat, Tosh tries to swallow, and it's hard. Talking is even harder, but after one false start she manages, "Are you talking about me? Or about Owen—him."

"Both?" Ianto suggests with false lightness. "I think everyone does it to a certain degree. Maybe your Owen more than most. But it's not fair to you to have to wait for him to get his head out of his arse." His smile, when it comes again, is bright and genuine. "I'd say go out to a club, dance a bit, get utterly smashed, and just talk to people. Let them talk to you. Believe me, it does wonders for the self-esteem when complete strangers ask you to dance, or if they can buy you a drink." He checks his watch, then sighs and stands up. "Unfortunately, that's it for me today. Work's calling."

Tosh hesitates for just a second before she reaches out to catch his sleeve. "Will you be here tomorrow?" she asks. "I'll provide the food if you'll bring the coffee."

Ianto smiles at her, nodding. "I'd like that," he says, and it's almost a surprise how genuine it sounds. "Keep the mug; I'll bring a thermos with me."

His hand settles over hers, just for a moment, and squeezes gently. Then he pulls away, strides across the Plass, and is lost to the crowd.

Tosh sits on the bench for a few more minutes, cradling the mug in her hands and watching the flow of life around her. The sun is out, and it's a beautiful day.

With a smile, she wraps her coat a little more tightly around herself, takes another bite of blueberry muffin, and calls up a mental list of the clubs she knows.

Maybe she'll ask Ianto to come.

* * *

That hadn't been quite to plan, but Ianto is good at improvisation. He buries a sigh as he heads into his building, nodding to the receptionist, and takes one of the common elevators to the fifteenth floor. His tie is too tight, like it's choking him; he's not really used to them, since being an evil mastermind doesn't exactly have suits-only dress policy. The black leather is more familiar now, but Tosh would have recognized him immediately in those. Take him out of context, remove his mask, and she didn't notice anything, or at least not anything concrete.

It's amazing what the human brain will write off, really.

But, for all his planning, Ianto hadn't expected to _like_ Tosh, hadn't expected to feel like he was meeting a kindred spirit—not that she could be evil (though she'd doubtless look breathtaking in black leather), even if she'd be brilliant at it, but someone who was just a bit out of touch with the way other people looked at the world, who couldn't quite understand what they were doing wrong in relation to everyone else.

Ianto knows the feeling well, and to see it reflected in Tosh's wounded, confused eyes—

Well. He'd been just a bit more honest than he'd planned.

But that's all right, because a genuine friendship is far better than a contrived one, and the difference might even make Ianto's plan a bit easier in the execution.

The elevator doors slide open, and Ianto strides out—he's always moving quickly now, always with a purpose, and that's one of the biggest changes from Before—and down the hall. The door of the third meeting room on the left stands ajar, so Ianto pushes it open and steps in, pulling his tie completely off and dropping it on the closest chair.

Andy is sprawled in the chair nearest the coffee pot, long legs propped up on the table. He's grinning at Ianto over the top of his mug, content as a cat with cream, and a few seats down from him is a strong-featured woman with dark skin, her hair pulled back in hundreds of thin braids. She also has a mug of coffee, and is regarding it with somewhat wondering suspicion.

As Ianto kicks the door closed behind him, stripping off his suit jacket, she looks up at hi and raises an eyebrow. "If you've drugged this somehow to make it taste like this, I'm taking you in," she threatens. "No office coffee tastes this good. None."

Andy just chuckles. "Mr. Jones, this is the detective I was telling you about. Detective Swanson, meet Mr. Jones, the Black King."

"Charmed," Ianto offers, unbuttoning his pink shirt and discarding it on the chair as well. "Andy, I told you never to call me that. Do it again and I take back all coffee rights. What can I do for you, Detective, that the Captain can't?"

Swanson scoffs into her cup. "The Captain," she says witheringly, "is a buffoon with an ego the size of a small country. He's good at saving people and looking good for photos, but I remember what happened last time the Master wanted to conquer the world. It was Martha Jones who saved us then, not the Captain, and I'd rather lay my wagers on someone who can get the job done without any fuss. PC Davidson tells me you're the man for that."

"You don't mind throwing in with a villain, then?" Ianto asks dryly, shrugging into the white button-down Andy hands him.

The look in Swanson's eyes could boil stone. "Mr. Jones, I'd throw in with a landed carp if I thought it would save my city."

Ianto takes a seat across from her, knocking Andy's feet off the table with a swipe of his hand. "Very well then, Detective. Let's talk terms."

There's a long moment of silence as Swanson regards him closely. Then she nods just once, firmly, as if to herself. "Davidson was right," she says wryly. "You're terrifying."

* * *

There's a very familiar pterodactyl—correction: pteranodon—attempting to eat the City Hall clock tower.

"Well," Owen says from the passenger seat of the Captain's SUV, leaning forward to get a better look. "That's not a sight you see every day."

"It's really not," Tosh agrees over the comm. (Lately, there's a certain glow about her that Jack's never seen before, and she seems happy; she even came to work late two days ago, something that's never happened, and which Jack never thought _would_ happen. But it's good. He's happy for her.)

"Right," he says, taking a deep breath before he opens the door and slides out. "We wouldn't happen to have a dinosaur net in the back, would we?"

Gwen's already got her head stuck back there, rooting through the collection of junk that's managed to accumulate. "Sorry," she calls forward. "Doesn't look like it."

"I bet that team in London would have dinosaur nets," Owen grumbles as he gets out, too. "The Doctor, too. But not us, no, never us."

Before Jack can answer—and he's working on a punchline, really—the pteranodon seems to catch sight of them, and comes barreling through the air like a rocket, folding its wings tightly against its side. Owen yelps and dives for cover, rolling underneath the SUV half a second before he'd otherwise have become dinosaur food. The creature pulls up, leathery wings beating hard to regain altitude, and Jack takes what's likely to be his only chance. He leaps forward, wraps his arms around the pteranodon's leg, and lets it carry him up into the air. This time, unlike when it had grabbed him before, he can move mostly freely, and manages to start climbing up towards its back in the hopes that he can somehow drive it back towards the ground.

It doesn't quite work that way.

They rise up, right past the face of the clock, with Jack clinging to the pteranodon's surprisingly slippery hide. Beneath the clock's hands, leaning casually on the railing of the small balcony, Jones watches them with an amused smile. When he catches Jack looking at him, he offers a mocking salute, lips tilted in a wicked grin.

"Enjoy your flight, Captain," he calls. Above him, Jack can just barely make out a pair of burly figures wrestling with something in the clock tower's interior, and gets a sinking feeling that this whole pteranodon-eating-the-clock-tower thing is, yet again, a distraction to let Jones execute his real plan.

Then the creature shrieks, swoops left, right, and down in quick succession, and Jack loses his grip and goes plummeting straight into the painfully shallow fountain pool.

Thankfully, it's only from a height of about ten feet—but in this case, Jack decides, it's most definitely the thought that counts.

* * *

It turns out that Jones stole a _bell_.

Owen stares at the news footage of several people gazing up at the empty spot where the third quarter bell used to hang. He shakes his head. "I know there's a joke I could make here, but I just can't think of it."

"Probably for the best," Tosh consoles, fingers flying over her keyboard.

Jack slumps in his seat, holding a pack of frozen peas to his head—with this group, it's about the only use vegetable get. "A _bell_? And not even the _main_ bell?" he repeats. "All that was for a _bell_?"

"With an inscription on it?" Gwen offers, holding up the City Hall guidebook she'd bought. "Apparently, the stolen one says, '_Time conquers all and we must time obey._' That sounds fairly ominous, doesn't it? Or is it just me?"

"No," Tosh agrees after a moment, "definitely not just you. But I can't think of a single thing he'd use it for. And why that particular one? I think we can all agree the pteranodon was a distraction, but surely he didn't _have_ to steal it in the middle of the day. The night would have been easier, and he probably could have gotten away with no one the wiser. So…why?"

"This man," Jack says wearily, "gives me a _migraine._"

"No," Owen counters. "I think that was the cement."

* * *

They're on the other side of the street when Jack catches sight of them, both a little tipsy and laughing breathlessly, leaning on each other for support. Tosh has her arm around the shoulders of a tall, slender young man, and the man has an arm around her waist, though their type of closeness seems more like siblings than lovers. Tosh sees him and grins, waving cheerfully.

"Jack," she calls. "Jack, we're going clubbing. Want to come? We've still got another one on the schedule!"

Only Tosh would have a schedule of clubs, Jack thinks fondly, but he crosses the road in between cars to fall into step with them regardless. "Sure," he says easily, because he's never seen Tosh like this, glowing with laughter and good health, and it seems this is the reason she's been in such good spirits lately. "You're being safe, right?" he asks before he can stop himself, even though he doesn't want to sound like a nagging mother.

(It's the anniversary of Grey's death; right now he just feels numb. Anything that can distract him is probably for the better.)

Tosh rolls her eyes at him, nearly tripping—she's wearing a pair of three-inch heels, and the cobblestones here are treacherous. "Of course," she answers, even as her companion steadies her. "I'm not taking people home, Jack. It's just…fun."

Jack shoots a sharp look at the man, who smiles in response. "Ianto," he offers, nodding a greeting. "We're careful. It's just dancing, and we've already cut each other off for drinks." His eyes are a strangely familiar pale blue, but before Jack can place them, Ianto looks away, smile lighting up again. "Here," he says to Tosh. "This is the place. Come on."

Bemused, Jack follows them as they tumble into the short line at the entrance, hindering each other more than helping, though Jack suspects that's somewhat the idea. They're laughing, though, so he suspects it's all right.

Inside, the dace floor is more sparely occupied than Jack had expected, and mostly has couples of the same gender. Tosh and Ianto snag seats at the bar and order sodas, and almost immediately a blonde woman leans into Tosh's space and whispers something in her ear. Jack expects Tosh to blush and stammer out a refusal, but to his surprise she lets the blonde pull her out of her seat and onto the floor as the current song changes.

Ianto laughs at the expression on Jack's face, pulling him down onto Tosh's deserted stool. "She's been broadening her horizons," he says in explanation. "I think she's doing all right."

"Yeah," Jack agrees after a moment, turning his attention from his friend to the young man beside him. Ianto's lovely, dressed in dark jeans and a red shirt, leather jacket sliding off his shoulders. "You haven't—"

"Not quite my type," Ianto cuts him off, still smiling. His eyes flicker over Jack, a slow study, and then dart up to his face again as he slides off his stool. "Dance with me?" he asks.

Jack sees no reason not to.

He hasn't danced in a long time—not like this, moving every muscle of his body like it's sex, feeling someone else pressed against him, hot and breathless, eyes feverish with the pulsing beat. It's a week night, and there are few enough people here that it nearly feels like they're alone at times, like Ianto is dancing this way just for Jack, that every sway and dip is his alone. Jack grips Ianto's hips, pulls him closer, and looks down the bare inch of difference in their heights.

"You're good," he wants to say, but it's too loud, too fast.

Ianto smiles at him like he can read the thought, slings his arms around Jack's waist, and pulls him another inch closer. He laughs softly, lost to the music, and his blue eyes glimmer up at Jack, pale and masked with shadows in the half-light.

Jack kisses him, breathes him in, and lets himself forget, just for a minute, that he's a hero, and the man in his arms is a villain.

* * *

Ianto is already awake when Jack opens his eyes the next morning, sitting propped up against the headboard. Myfanwy the pteranodon is stirring in her nest, and there's bright sunlight coming in through the wide windows. Jack blinks blearily against the brilliance, squinting up at Ianto, whose face is absolutely blank.

"Ugh," Jack mutters into the pillow. "It's too early for a panic attack. Save it for after we've had breakfast."

"Will you?" Ianto's voice is perfectly measured, and while he's not the completely carefree young man he was last night, he's also not the seductive supervillain trying to distract Jack—not that Jack complained when those leather pants made a reappearance, halfway through the night.

Jack rolls over onto his back and stretches his arms above his head, feeling his spine crack. Ianto is _very_ flexible. "No," he says honestly. "As far as villains go, steeling bells from the clock tower isn't exactly deadly. Dastardly, maybe, but I'm even reserving judgment on that until I know what you want it for."

A warm smile quirks Ianto's lips, and he leans down to kiss Jack carefully. "I'll never tell," he murmurs.

Jack grins up at him. "That sounds like a challenge," he says cheerfully.

"And your life's motto is 'challenge accepted,'" Ianto says with clear amusement. "Well, I wouldn't want to deter you, Captain."

With a twist and a jerk, Jack pulls Ianto down to the mattress and flips them over, pinning him. "Do I get bonus points if I call you Your Majesty?" he asks cheekily.

Ianto laughs until Jack steals the sound right from his mouth.

* * *

Suzie's back-from-the-dead machine—and really, she was a brilliant scientist up until she went completely mad, Ianto thinks with faint regret—has sat unused and uncared for since her final death. He'd never thought to need it, after all, but with a little tweaking, it's come to meet his needs very well indeed.

With the master key to a vast number of safe deposit boxes in his possession, it had been simple for Ianto to gather the necessary items—a the staff of a real magician, who'd once been the superhero looking after London, a diamond taken from an Egyptian pharaoh's tomb and blessed by Isis, and a golden crown from an ancient temple. Now he has the inscribed bell, wrapped with the power of time and age.

Ianto isn't incredibly ambitious. He has no great lust for power. But there are some things for which power is necessary, and he might be a supervillain, but he's a fairly mild one, and his presence is keeping Cardiff safe.

If he dies, that won't be true. Someone else with move in, topple the government, and capture the Captain, leaving Cardiff at the mercy of a villain who will quite likely not be sane.

Ianto isn't going to allow that happen.

This ritual is an old one, but it will work. Ianto's consulted so many books, so many treaties on magic and the arcane, and this is the only way to circumvent both time and death.

_Jack,_ he thinks as he lowers himself into the camber, alone but for his pounding heart. _Jack's been alive for two hundred years. He can't die._

The implication of that thought he pushes away, pushes down.

(Soon, he won't die, either. But it will be all right.)

Other supervillains, over the years, have gone questing for immortality, but they had the disadvantage of being mad. Ianto is quite sane.

With a hum, the program starts up, and Ianto's world is lost to blue light.

* * *

"Hold it right there!" Jack cries, lunging for Jones as he heads down the steps of the museum, the alarms still blaring behind him.

Jones (Ianto) meets him with a smile, blocks his punch, and knocks his hand away before he can use the Vortex Manipulator on him. His eyes are glowing, not just with the brightness they normally have, but with something…supernatural.

"Forever," he whispers in Jack's ear, slipping around him as Jack throws another punch. "What do you say to that?"

Jack's heart skips a beat, even as he spins to follow the supervillain. "It's a long time," he manages after a second.

The shriek of a pteranodon cuts through the air as Myfanwy swoops down to snatch the painting tube from Ianto's hands, carrying it up into Cardiff's sky.

"Yes," Ianto agrees, and his smile is a victory. "It is."


End file.
